


A Whisper on his Skin

by Vertiga



Series: Whispers [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Asexual!Sherlock, M/M, Masturbation, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 19:02:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vertiga/pseuds/Vertiga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt on the Kink Meme: Asexual!Sherlock doesn't want to sleep with John, but knows John wants him. So Sherlock agrees to an experiment: seeing if he can make John orgasm without touching him at all - just by talking, looking, breathing on him... Blow me away with touchless porn, please!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Whisper on his Skin

‘John, stop that.’

John let go of his cock as though it had suddenly become red hot. Lifting his head from the pillow, he glared at the tall detective lounging in the doorway to his bedroom, staring at John’s naked, obviously aroused form.

‘Christ, Sherlock! Don’t you knock?’

Sherlock grinned. ‘After almost a year together, you still need to ask? Really, John, even by your standards that’s slow.’

He crossed the room and sank down on the end of the bed, crossing legs that seemed to go on forever. He was wearing his blue dressing gown over loose grey pyjamas, looking better in the casual clothes than should be humanly possible, in John’s opinion.

John was intensely aware of the sudden body heat beside his ankle where Sherlock was not-quite-touching him; for someone so thin, Sherlock was surprisingly warm. It was one of the things John liked most about him, especially when there was no case and Sherlock was staving off boredom by spending a day wrapped securely around John, listening to his slow heartbeat as crap telly murmured in the background.

Sherlock liked to cuddle and share breathless little kisses, loved it, even, but that was as far as it went, and as far as it was ever likely to go. Sex simply wasn’t on his list of things that were worth his time. John loved Sherlock more than enough to put up with the restrictions on their relationship, but it did lead to some pretty extreme frustration at times. Hence the fact that he had left Sherlock on the sofa to sneak off to his room like a teenager and have a quick wank.

‘What did you want, Sherlock? I was busy,’ John said, thinking that he might scream if Sherlock didn’t leave him to get on with it soon. Not that he wanted Sherlock to leave, far from it, but he wouldn’t get himself off in front of his asexual boyfriend if it was going to disturb him, as John suspected it would.

‘You find me sexually attractive, don’t you?’ Sherlock said.

John huffed out a frustrated breath. ‘Now who’s being slow?’ he said. ‘You know I love you, and for me, that includes wanting to throw you on the bed and do things to you which are illegal in quite a lot of countries. And if you haven’t deduced that I think of you when I’m wanking, you might have to stop claiming to be a genius.’

Sherlock made a satisfied little humming noise in his throat, and John felt as though someone had poured melted chocolate into the pit of his stomach. God, it shouldn’t be possible for someone who didn’t care about sex to make a noise like that!

‘I want your help with an experiment.’ Sherlock said.

John propped himself up on his elbows and glared at the impossible man. ‘It couldn’t have waited five minutes?!’

Sherlock arched an eyebrow at him. ‘Come on, John, your average time to climax is fifteen minutes at least.’

‘How do you – No, never mind.’ John said, flopping back onto the bed, wondering how on earth he was going to concentrate on whatever insanely dangerous experiment Sherlock needed help with whilst certain key parts of his anatomy were doing stubborn impressions of solid rock. ‘Alright, alright!’ he said eventually, starting to sit up with a long-suffering sigh. ‘I’m coming.’

‘Really? It doesn’t look like it.’ Sherlock said, looking curiously at his rampant erection. John snorted. ‘Anyway, you have misunderstood me.’ He held up a long-fingered hand to stop John from levering himself off the bed. ‘You are my experiment.’

‘What?’

‘I want to see if I can help you resolve your, ah, problem.’ Sherlock said.

‘Sherlock, that’s not an experiment.’ John pointed out. ‘I’m mad about you. Obviously, you can help. Christ, I’d probably pass out from lust the moment you touched me.’

Sherlock made a face. ‘I’m not going to touch you. Frankly, the idea is mildly revolting.’

‘But –’

‘That’s the experiment, John.’ Sherlock explained, steepling his fingers as calmly as if he was talking about what he wanted John to get from Tesco. ‘I know you’re bored of getting off on your own, so I have devised a method which might suit us both. I want to see if I can bring you to orgasm without the messy business of touching you.’

John’s mouth opened in surprise. But then, why not? If it meant Sherlock being present, he was game for pretty much anything. ‘Just that fact that you’re here will help,’ he confessed, warming to the idea. He slipped his hand down his stomach, ran it through the blonde curls at his groin and wrapped his fingers lightly around his cock again, almost teasing himself.

Sherlock shook his head. ‘John, stop that. I don’t want you to touch yourself either.’

‘Then how –’

‘Keep your hands off yourself or you’ll ruin the experiment. I’ll tie you up if I have to.’ Sherlock threatened, his grey eyes flashing in promise.

John’s breath went out of him in a rush. Sherlock looked as though he had smoldering coals behind his eyes. And John found that imagining him actually going through with the threat, leaving John writhing, unable to touch himself whilst Sherlock raked him with those eyes, well, that seemed to have short-circuited his brain and gone straight into his cock. Perhaps this insane experiment might actually do something for him.

‘Alright,’ John said, aware that his voice shook a little. He raised both arms above his head and locked his hands around the rails of the bed. His shoulder burned slightly as he stretched the puckered gunshot scar, but the pain was too familiar to bother him. In fact, he thought it might even be surprisingly stimulating. God, how many new kinks was Sherlock going to give him tonight?

‘Do your worst,’ John invited, shivering in anticipation.

Instantly, Sherlock’s whole posture changed. His spine seemed to melt slightly, leaving his profile softer than usual. His face softened, the harsh cheekbones made less so by his slightly parted lips. His breathing went ragged, his eyelids sank languidly until he was regarding John from half-closed eyes. John even thought his pupils were blown wider than usual. He shuddered and grasped the bed harder. He wasn’t sure how Sherlock was doing it, but he looked for all the world like someone half out of their mind with lust.

John’s own body responded in kind, his heart rate climbing abruptly, his breath coming quick and shallow. The need which had driven him into his room in the first place was back, even more insistent that before, and he squirmed a little as heat flooded his groin.

Sherlock unfolded himself from the bed and prowled round it, limbs fluid and cat-like, until he could bend down and lean his elbows on the pillow, bringing his face down just inches from John’s ear.

John felt his breath against his neck and squirmed again. Then Sherlock began to speak.

‘John, do you know how long I’ve watched you, how long I’ve wanted you?’ Sherlock began. His voice was even lower than its usual velvet rumble, breathy and deep. John felt every word sear its way down his spine.

‘You’re perfect, you’re the most extraordinary man I’ve ever met,’ Sherlock purred, tickling John’s ear with each word. ‘Even your scar is perfect. I want to run my tongue over that scar. I want to lick the wound right off your skin so that the only marks left are the ones I put there.’

John hissed through his teeth and tightened his grip convulsively, sending a wave of pain through his shoulder. He revelled in it, imagining that it was Sherlock’s tongue that hurt him.

‘I want to trace every muscle in your body with my fingers. I want to run an ice cube over your skin and hear you gasp at the cold, then lower my mouth and lick off the trails of water. They’ll taste like you, and that’s my favourite taste in the world, John. If I could live on nothing but you, I would never eat again. I’d even give up coffee.’

John groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. The images Sherlock was putting in his head were going to kill him, he was sure. No one could want something this much and live. Even though he knew this wasn’t really what Sherlock wanted, knew the brilliant man was just telling John things designed to stimulate him, it was no less effective. It turned out that Sherlock’s genius extended to sex, whether he cared about it or not.

‘Oh, John, make that noise again,’ Sherlock sighed in his ear. ‘I need you to moan for me. I want you to cry out my name. I want to hear your voice when you come so hard that you can’t even breathe, my mouth wrapped around you, taking every last drop. Oh, John...’

John moaned and rolled his hips, desperate for Sherlock’s mouth. He could see it so clearly that he could almost believe it was really happening. The need to touch himself was excruciating, but he thought of Sherlock’s threat and groaned again.

Sherlock moaned in answer, a noise of pure dark chocolate poured into John’s ear.

Every muscle in John’s body went rigid as the sound thrummed through him. ‘Oh god, Sherlock...’ he gasped.

‘John. Oh, John, please...’ Sherlock purred, as though John was touching him all over, driving him to the very brink of orgasm. ‘God, I want you inside me.’

John’s breath hitched, his mind full of images of himself buried to the root in Sherlock, the tall man wrapping his legs around John’s waist and keening as John thrust into him. Panting, he slid his feet up the bed, raising his knees. His cock was hot and heavy, slick with pre-come, desperate to be touched.

‘I want you to, John, please, fuck me!’ Sherlock groaned in his ear, his voice as smooth as velvet. ‘Oh, oh, that’s right! Harder! Oh God, that feels so gooooood...’

John moaned, writhing against the sheets. His knuckles were white around the bed rails. That voice ought to be illegal, he was sure, the things it did to his body. He could barely breathe with the pleasure thrumming through his veins, and Sherlock still hadn’t touched him at all.

Sherlock shifted at last, moving down the side of the bed, and John stiffened as hot breath washed over his chest, torturing his sensitive skin.

‘Oh, John, that’s perfect,’ Sherlock gasped, letting his breath play over John’s chest. He leaned close to a nipple and huffed out a breath over it. John gasped at the stab of sensation in the little nub of flesh.

‘Sherlock, please...’ he moaned, unable to even complete the sentence.

Sherlock must have read his mind, for he leaned close to John’s chest and blew on his other nipple, a wavering stream of air that sent John’s mind into overload. He could feel his balls tightening, feel how close he was to coming.

Sherlock worked his way lower, alternating hot breath on John’s skin with low growls of pleasure and whispers of John’s name and the things he wanted him to do. When he reached the trail of hair leading down to John’s cock he let out the loudest moan yet, sounding for all the world as though he was dying and he couldn’t be happier about it.

‘Oh, John, oh! I’m coming, oh, God, yes!’ he gasped out, breath fast and desperate on John’s skin.

John convulsed, the world going white behind his eyelids at the thought of Sherlock having an orgasm from something John had done to him.

‘Sherlock,’ he warned brokenly. ‘Sherlock, I’m going to –’

A sudden wave of hot breath washed over his cock as Sherlock let out a long moan of ecstasy.

John was lost, his body utterly under the control of that gorgeous voice. He came hard, every muscle tensing. The bed creaked under his fingers as cum splattered his stomach and chest, wave upon wave of pleasure shuddering through him.

It was long minutes before he regained enough control to move. His chest was still heaving as he tried to get his breath back, and his fingers shook as he unwrapped them from the bed rails. He half expected to have left dents in the wood.

John opened his eyes and saw Sherlock standing over him. The detective was smiling, but somehow he was himself again. The rampant sexuality was gone, dropped like the act it was, but John didn’t care. In fact, he wasn’t sure he was even capable of caring. He had rarely had such an intense orgasm from full-on sex, and Sherlock had done it to him without even touching him.

‘That was brilliant,’ he breathed, smiling languidly up at his flatmate.

‘I suppose that’s what people usually say,’ Sherlock agreed, smiling back. ‘But it’s the first time someone’s said it to me.’

Sherlock handed him a tissue from the box on the bedside table and let John clean himself off before flopping down on the bed beside him and nestling into John’s shoulder, soft dark curls brushing against John’s chin.

‘I think that was a successful result, don’t you?’ Sherlock said smugly.

John made an incoherent noise of agreement, still slightly mind-wiped by the intensity of his orgasm.

‘Next time, we ought to change one of the variables.’

The idea that Sherlock would be willing to do this again woke John up a little. ‘What variables?’ he asked, wrapping his arm around Sherlock’s warm body, smoothing the silk of his dressing gown.

‘I want to find out if you achieve orgasm quicker if I’m naked too.’ Sherlock said calmly. ‘Would that be alright with you?’

Short of actually being able to have sex with Sherlock, which wasn’t likely, John thought that was one of the best things he could imagine.

‘Oh, god yes...’ he breathed, and pressed a kiss into Sherlock’s hair before his eyes drifted closed and he fell asleep.


End file.
